


In The Shadows of Halamshiral

by dreadwriter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/M, Halamshiral, I don't know how to use tags I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 06:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14743808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwriter/pseuds/dreadwriter
Summary: Aradia Eventide had joined the Inquisition because they seemed to need the help, and saving the world is something she kind of has experience in. At no point was she told that she would be expected to dress up and attend a fancy high-to-do at Halamshiral, where she will be expected to cozy up to nobility. She doesn't expect much from the evening except boredom and discomfort...that is, until the Inquisition's Commander--and a blast from her past--finds her hiding out in an abandoned hall...





	In The Shadows of Halamshiral

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, my name is Dreadwriter and this is my first time posting a fanfic. 
> 
> I've been wanting to write a Dragon Age fic for a while and didnt originally plan to use an OC for this one...but Aradia is my OC Warden for another fic I'm writing and she seemed to fit this particular short fic better than my canon Trevelyans, Couslands, Lavellans, and so on. I hope you enjoy the fic regardless.
> 
> And now, without further ado...

Aradia staggered back against the wall, shrouding herself in the shadows that hid this secluded section of the corridor. She longed to be anywhere else except here; even the deep roads were more welcoming setting than this, and she still suffered nightmares of her experience there. Almost without thinking, she raised one hand to her head, meaning to run her fingers through her hair in her usual display of distress...until she remembered how much attention Josephine had put in making it appear presentable; her fingers paused less than an inch from the midnight-black tresses, lingering for only a moment in the air, and then dropped so she could chew on her thumbnail instead, scowling.

She had agreed to help the Inquisition because they seemed to need all the help they could get, and because stepping forth when the world sat at the brink of ruin was something that Grey Wardens did...and because she had been absent from the world for too long now, though that last part was harder for her to admit than she cared to. Nowhere in the job description had she read anything along the lines of _dolling yourself up and schmoozing nobles._

 _I think I preferred when the world didn’t care what I was doing_ , she decided. This wasn’t the first time the fate of the world lay on her shoulders, but at least then all she had to worry about was a Blight, hordes of darkspawn, and an awakened old god to defeat and destroy. There had been other factors at play, but that had been the gist of it. Grey Wardens knew how to fight Blights and end-of-the-world scenarios--that was the entire purpose for their existence--but she feared Corypheus was a threat not even the Grey Wardens could handle. And how did they choose to battle a self-proclaimed magister of the old days? By dressing her up in a fancy dress with far too many layers, frills, and lace, and parade her in front of the nobility of Orlais like a pampered dog at a show.

It wasn’t even her _color_ , but that was just another argument she had lost to Josephine.

_“You cannot attend the ball dressed in full armor,” the Inquisition ambassador had argued. “We have been personally invited as honored guests of Grand-Duke Gaspard. Everyone knows he is trying to claim the throne from his cousin, and there are many who believe he will go to any lengths to do so. Arriving fully armed will...send the wrong message. We must appear as peaceful and honored guests.”_

_Aradia had wanted to argue, but Josephine’s voice had adopted that hard, authoritative tone that told her she would have the final say. She could be just as stubborn if she chose, but arguing over what to wear to a party seemed a little...petty. Instead, she had said, “Fine, but I get to choose the dress.”_

_“Oh, no you don’t.” Josephine had picked up her pen and began scrawling something on the parchment on the little writing board she always carried with her. “If I know you, you’ll choose something that looks like it was made by a Witch of the Wilds...er, no offense. Halamshiral is the heart of the Game, and that is not an image we want projected onto ourselves. I will choose the dress.”_

_Aradia had whined--actually whined, as if she were a child again--and protested, “I refuse to wear anything pastel colored. Or yellow. I hate yellow.”_

_The Ambassador had huffed, a sound Aradia realized only a moment later had been a laugh. “Deal. I am sure I can find something suitable to both our tastes, and I will ensure the tailor makes it so that it doesn’t inhibit your ability to fight.”_

“‘Both of our tastes,’ indeed,” Aradia muttered as the memory dissolved, letting her hands fall to the skirt of her dress so she could examine the silver design against the bright blue fabric. “I look like a circus animal.”

“Circus animals don’t dress nearly as well as that,” a voice commented. Aradia jumped, feeling her heart leap to her throat for a moment from the unexpected presence of another; she hadn’t heard their approach, and despite her usual tendency to keep track of her surroundings--particularly the living elements--she had been so lost in thought that this one had managed to sneak up on her without her notice. She doubted his intention had been to startle her, but she couldn’t help the accusing glare she gave him as he came to a full stop a few feet away.

“Commander,” she greeted, forcing her voice to be friendly despite the expression on her face. She lowered her gaze, smoothing her skirt as an excuse not to look at him as she forced her expression to relax into something that came off a little less rude. “Do you often stalk people to their hiding niches?”

“Old habit,” Cullen answered with a lilt of humor in his usually-serious voice. He didn’t need to elaborate; they both knew what old habit implied. Aradia had been housed in the first Mage’s Tower he had been stationed at, before Duncan had recruited her into the Grey Wardens, and then everything turned to shit. “Do you often wander off into dark, shadowy corners? You know there’s an assassin wandering around somewhere.”

The humor had vanished from his voice, once again drifting into the serious tone that he usually used. Elera still had not decided if Cullen’s serious nature had built itself over time, or if he only behaved this way because the Commander of the Inquisition's forces was required to project a certain image to his soldiers and the rest of the world. “I’m not their target,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean--”

“I’m capable of defending myself against an attack,” she interrupted, then winced at the harshness in her tone. Cullen didn’t deserve to spoken to that way, considering he wasn’t the source of her agitation tonight. In a lighter voice, she continued, “If nothing else, I can scream _very_ loudly if needed.”

“That’s your plan? To scream and hope someone hears you?” The expression on his face told her he had missed the joke entirely. Probably a good thing--if he had been Zevran, he would have come up with at least ten different jokes related to activities that involved screaming, all of them probably sexual.

Sighing, she finally lifted her chin so she could meet his gaze again, smiling for added effect as she replied, “I can handle an assassin or two on my own. More, if Josephine wasn’t so Fade-bent on squeezing me into a dress.”

Cullen’s gaze flickered to the dress she wore, but it didn’t linger there lecherously--just a quick scan as if to confirm she had actually worn a dress rather than the leather armor she preferred. The usual black leather had been replaced by blue silk with silver thread and lace throughout the bodice and skirt of the dress, colors that immediately brought to mind the Grey Wardens, but that was where the similarities ended; covering her bodice, shoulders, and arms were metal pieces of armor that complimented the outfit perfectly, but rather than the griffons of the Grey Wardens, the seamstress--or more likely the Inquisition blacksmith--had put the ever-searching Eye of the Inquisition. To be fair, the dress was stunning, but it was wasted on her. She had worn dresses very rarely in her life, and each time she had felt they didn’t suit her the way they did other women.

“You seem to fill it out rather nicely,” he observed--then stammered, “I-I mean to say...you don’t look like you were, uh...squeezed into anything.”

Aradia raised one eyebrow, wondering if she should be flattered by the way his face grew a bright shade of red at the unintentionally flirtatious words he had spoken...but then dismissed the idea entirely. This was _Cullen_ , a former templar of the Chantry--a former templar that had acted as little more than a prison guard to her and the other mages of Kinloch Hold. He was probably embarrassed that his words had come off as sounding flirtatious, not because he held any kind of attraction towards her.

The mage crossed her arms over her chest and stepped away from the shadows, bringing herself not only into the light that filtered through the row of windows on the opposite wall, but a little closer to Cullen. “Well, I probably don’t cut quite the figure as you do in the outfit Josephine squeezed you into,” she pointed out.

Cullen scowled, an expression she had begun to associate with him as much as the meticulous way he overloaded himself with work. “I’m not sure I understand what you…”

“I saw the little crowd of admirers that had you surrounded,” she told him, flashing a smile that told him she was teasing. She reached up and smoothed the sash that wound diagonally across his chest, while mentally asking herself what the Void she was doing. Was this only teasing...or was she simply finding an excuse to touch him? “I would have come to your rescue, but it was kind of fun seeing you so flustered.”

“I…” Cullen trailed, seeming to become flustered at the mere mention of it...or perhaps because her hand was now lingering on his chest instead of fixing the sash, longer than it needed to be. She saw his throat move as he swallowed thickly, trying to gain control of whatever had tangled his tongue, and then finally released a slow, controlled breath. “Inquisitor?”

“Don’t call me that,” she said in a low voice, mostly out of reflex, and then it was her turn to swallow nervously, because this entire conversation had taken a turn she hadn’t expected it to. She had only meant to tease him, and now they were...what? _Flirting_? Having a moment? Old gods forbid she catch herself doing either of those things, particularly with a man she doubted had any interest in her. Templars did not fraternize with mages...well, some of them did, but not the ones like Cullen, who followed the rules like most obedient little student and never questioned the authority of his order.

 _Cullen isn’t a templar anymore._ She jumped at the intrusive thought, unsure what purpose it was meant to have. An excuse, probably, but she didn’t know what for. Or didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Aradia?” Cullen’s voice was barely above a whisper, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they stood, of the warmth of him beneath her hand, the fast beat of his heart. She could feel his breath brush over her face and it took conscious effort not to lift her gaze to meet his, because doing so would bring their faces so close together, their lips…

She knew she should drop her hand from his chest and step back. Whatever this was, whatever shift in the energy between them she sensed, it was happening too suddenly for her to follow. She didn’t know what to make of it, or if she even _wanted_ it. She closed her eyes again, picturing a time many years ago--before the Blight, before the Grey Wardens, before she had been Harrowed. A time when she had been an apprentice blind to everything, even the truth of her own nature. Back then, her friends--few as they were--had teased her for the obvious attraction a new templar had for her. She had denied it then, too. She wasn’t naive enough to think Cullen had harbored his feelings for her all these years, or that what he felt for her then had been anything more than a fleeting crush that would have dissolved naturally over time...but was it possible for old feelings to reignite?

Even if she was willing to test that theory...was she prepared for what it would mean for them both?

Aradia drew a slow breath that trembled a little, and then finally, finally seemed to regain control of her body. Her hand fell from Cullen’s chest and she stepped back, still unable to even look at him as she put a safe distance between them. Compared to the heat that had seemed to form between them, the air around them was like the chill of the Frostbacks. Cold had never bothered her, but she found herself craving that heat again; she wanted to pull him into her arms so that their bodies melded against each other and press her lips to his throat, that damnably handsome jaw, his mouth--

“We should--” Aradia began before the mental image could go any further, then broke off as she tried to collect her bearings. Where was this all coming from? “Go back,” she finished finally. “We should...in case something happened. Or before it happens. We shouldn’t be here.”

 _Alone_ , she finished mentally. They shouldn’t be here _alone_ , mainly because she didn’t trust herself to be alone with Cullen. She didn’t think anything more would have happened...but she also hadn’t thought she was capable of any of those feelings until this moment. She kept her gaze downcast, so she couldn’t see Cullen’s expression, but she could picture it in his voice as he said, “I...yes, you’re right. The others are probably wondering where we’ve disappeared to.” She saw a flicker of movement and chanced a quick glance at him to see him step to the side and gesture for her to walk ahead of him. Ladies first, as they said; ever the gentleman. She gave an awkward little nod of thanks and scurried forward, hoping to leave those complicated, inexplicable feelings in the shadows of the hall where they belonged.


End file.
